


l'chaim

by consumptive_sphinx



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Ashkenazi Jewish Character, Character Study, Gen, Jewish Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 15:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10619400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consumptive_sphinx/pseuds/consumptive_sphinx
Summary: When he signed up for the Aerial Corps, he claimed that his name was Augustine Little. It wasn't true, although after fifteen years of being known by others as nothing else it might as well be; he has always known himself as Chaim.But men named Chaim Leibovitz do not rise above the rank of midwingman; they certainly do not captain dragons, whatever society may say about aviators. And sometimes, men named Augustine Little can.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WerewolvesAreReal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/gifts).



> For WerewolvesAreReal, who wrote the fics that got me interested in this fandom, and who I think would be interested. 
> 
> _Chaim_ is pronounced _hye_ -im.

Little comes out to speak to Immortalis in his clearing the first night after he is made his captain, late enough at night that there is nobody else who might see and no light for them to see by in any case.

“Dearest?” Little says softly, and sinks to his knees before Immortalis’s head where it rests on the ground. “Immortalis, dearest, there is something that I need to tell you.”

Immortalis raises his head slightly. “It is very late,” he says. He was awake in any case, but he suspects that Little was not.

“I hope that I didn't wake you,” Little says earnestly; Immortalis feels a rush of warm affection for the man who has become his captain. “It is only that — I did not want anyone else to hear.”

Immortalis nods slowly. There are only so many things that a new captain slips out of his room in the dead of night to confess, and he thinks that he might already know what is on Little’s mind.

“I'm Jewish,” he says.

— _That_ is not even slightly what Immortalis expected him to say.

“The Admiralty doesn't know, I changed my name when I entered the Corps, I have never spoken of it, I've been careful,” Little adds, his eyes wide and his face very serious. “But if they found out—” and here his voice breaks — “they would take me from you. And I thought that you deserved to know.”

It is not that Immortalis was not _aware_ of the laws, but they had always been an abstract thing before, and they are uncomfortably concrete now. “If they try, I will squash them,” Immortalis says, and that makes Little laugh. “You are already my captain. They can refuse to promote you, but they cannot take you away for something as silly as that.”

Little lays a hand on Immortalis’s nose. “I sincerely hope that you are right,” he says softly, “but I would prefer that they not find out in the first place.”

He does not go back inside for the rest of the night.

 

 

(When he signed up for the Aerial Corps, he claimed that his name was Augustine Little. It wasn't true, although after fifteen years of being known by others as nothing else it might as well be; he has always known himself as Chaim.)

(But men named Chaim Leibovitz do not rise above the rank of midwingman; they certainly do not captain dragons, whatever society may say about aviators. And sometimes, men named Augustine Little can.)

 

 

Chenery learns in the year 1807 when he comes across Augustine in his room, holding tightly onto a length of fabric (creamy white with blue stripes, white thread tied in knots at the edges), not actually crying but with eyes that are red and puffy.

“What’s going on,” Chenery says, almost falling to the floor next to his friend, and he’ll admit that he’s terrified because he’s known Augustine since he was nine years old and Augustine was seven and the two of them were runners together and he has _never_ seen him cry.

Augustine takes a few ragged breaths worth of time before he responds. Chenery does not reach out to try to comfort him (Augustine flinches when he's touched), but he very much wants to. “Napoleon has passed a law granting civil rights to every Jew in France.”

Chenery just looks at him, not realizing what he means — until suddenly he does, and a solid portion of his and Augustine’s childhood makes more sense.

“I'm not going to leave for France.” Augustine is quiet, but certain. “I can't fight against you, Zach, and I can't fight against our friends, and I can't fight against this country. But —” his face twists in something that might be pain or might be anger or might be longing or might be all three — “you have _no idea_ how good it would be to hear my real name again.”

There is nothing that Chenery can say to that, and so he says nothing. But he files away the knowledge and resolves to keep a closer eye on Augustine.

 

 

(The name that he was born with was Asher Leibovitz. When he was eight months old he almost died, and his parents changed his name to Chaim. The explanation he got later was that it confused the Angel of Death. Chaim was never sure that he believed it, but the idea was always comforting, at least to a degree.)

(If a new name can fool the Angel of Death, it can certainly fool the British Admiralty. There is a certain symmetry in that, Chaim thinks.)

 

 

Immortalis is in quarantine in the covert, choking to death on his own sputum. Chaim stays at his side for nearly two weeks, doesn't leave even to eat or to sleep; Chenery brings him food and and rum and blankets and what little company Dulcia can spare.

“I wish I could rename him,” Chaim says to Chenery when he's more drunk than is probably a good idea but not so drunk that Chenery will worry about him for the rest of the night. “It's what they did for me, I never really believed that it worked but I wish I could at least _try —”_

Chenery doesn't ask what he means. Chaim is grateful for that, he supposes; he doubts he could explain it even if Chenery did ask. But even so he wants Chenery to know, wants _someone_ to know —

“My name is Chaim,” he says without preamble, the sentence slurring together from too much alcohol, and Chenery flinches.

“This is a bad idea,” Chenery says, quiet but firm enough that Chaim stops. “If you still want to tell me in the morning I'll listen, but this isn't something you should tell me while you're drunk.”

Chaim nods, pulls back, stops speaking with an effort that is probably visible. Nods again, more sure.

They don't speak of it in the morning.

They don't speak of it after that, either.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Little is canonically described as having curly hair and a large nose, hence the headcanon. 
> 
> 2\. Napoleon actually was one of the first European powers to grant civil rights to Jews.  
> (Interestingly, he was also one of the first to decriminalize same-sex relations. But that's a different plotline for a different fic.) 
> 
> 3\. Jewish people were prohibited from serving as officers in the British military until the 1860s.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] l'chaim](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12208809) by [Chestnut_filly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chestnut_filly/pseuds/Chestnut_filly)




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